Into the strange, into the vague, away from the delineated, the strict, the very stark of the familiar and wellknown. Into the haze, the undefined, the uncharted of what has remained unseen, never experienced. Away from the everyday, common pleasant reality into the new which is a guess, a question-mark, a great wonder, a mystification, uncharted trajectories, the loneliness and loveliness of the awful unexplored. It's good to be away, even if it's only in a plane, looking out over the barren, stupefying, desolate wilderness of the north. The untamed beauty of the wild, the not so atavistic virgin snows of Labrador and the polar region where geography is a mystery tale of snow and ice and deceptive crevices and avalanches at the weather's powerful whims. The beauty of the earth, the subtle variety in the seemingly monotonous white and more white, the drifts of snow and hail and scattered shafts of prying hesitant sunshine through clouds pregnant with shadows and freezing cold. The north pole where at first and second sight nothing moves. Nothing at all.
12/10/1980
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